


Caelum

by Daastan_Go



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Family, Family Drama, Tragedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 10:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16427777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daastan_Go/pseuds/Daastan_Go
Summary: A hammer, chisel, and heart . . .





	Caelum

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Naruto is Kishimoto's property. It's not possible to make money off this story, though I might try. Maybe . . . 
> 
> Warning: Violence.

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Day drank the night; it drank itself into a delirious state of stupor. One swig, two swigs, and the shade grew darker upon the eternal firmament all eyes could see till those clumsy, mechanized bodies would breathe their final breaths.

A burin in a deft hand and the stars were left there like holes in the burnt metal. The divine hand was a quick one. One swift touch and the clouds gave way to reveal the vast expanse of a dark horizon, bearing down upon the moors beneath, bearing down upon Man.

He could not see a thing beyond that bend. He did not possess the inexplicable power of those eyes loaded with the colour of martyrs; now was not his time to claim and wield it for exhibition of passions. He had little to claim. His soul had not borne the burthen of a wild kind of denial—yet. So he sat quietly, listening to the sounds and heeding the air and the autumn leaves sighing like the babe in his arms. Wind was moist with good tidings of rain, and smells lay over its form like heavy hands.

He rose up to his small feet and clutched the small sleeping thing in his hands—it meant the world to him. He looked down to gaze upon the soft lashes fluttering in sleep. Did he dream, too? Such small innocent things to dream of—such pretty little things to see. The chisel went in deep there, and the metal was his heart. Dust in the eyes of men. Empty graves in the night. The fields became their eternal home.

How vast was his sky, and how deep did the burin wound that eternal immortal in him? Shuddering, shaking, and spasming in the grip of Time, he was tainted now. His soul was embalmed with the odour of the battles, heavy promises of a father. It was changed. He could feel it shift and draw something out of the deep of his shadow. He had assumed its darkness in a thoughtless chase towards salvation.

And deeper it went, tearing through the make-believe yarns of a good morrow. He bled and threw blood of false promises against the lonely companion of his chamber. It was done, the metamorphosis of a boy into what he would become, but the babe slept . . . happy in the pretty chambers of his prettier dreams . . . 

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** The End **


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